#stormyks

I totally agree on this. There are many things about the movie to dislike, but Armie is actually really funny in it. He has this wide eyed innocence and kind of noble but stupid character that is pretty hilarious.

Yay, more TLR opinion!  I think I’ve been convinced to check it out.  (Even/especially if it means following it up with CMBYN or TSN or ...almost any other Armie movie that I love.)  I appreciate the insight!  (And, for the record, appreciate all Armie insight/opinion always, so feel free to throw it at me.)

What is “4 women”?

“Operatic sentimentalism” is a genius phrase. Pense Bete ❤️❤️❤️

👶advice for new writers

Umm, I’m an impostor. It’s okay to feel like one? I guess?

It’s okay to be garbage. You’ll find that you do improve over time. Maybe not as quickly as you’d like but you will.

Find good beta reader who understand what you are attempting to do. They can be the best writers in the world but if they don’t get your style then they can’t really help you. Keep reading their work but find other beta readers.

Keep reading, not just fic, everything!

Make friends with other writers, do sprints. Be prolific and don’t worry so much about perfection. 

Please note I can’t seem to follow that last bit of advice. I am an anxious mess who can’t seem to write without flop sweat so… there’s that.

👀favorite response to one of your works

When innie and querulousgawks remixed two of my early fics, Sarsaparilla and the Starfish and Books, Sand and Zombies, and made them actual stories. I love a remix and Root Beer Rag and Jessica Day, Expression Detective are fabulous and way better than their questionable source material.

Anytime someone recs my fic. Thank you.

Also answered here.

thank you for the ask, @stormyks!

thank you, @stormyks. a reverse POV from Andante. Not exactly following the script but close. 

I lean forward, resting my forehead against my knees and letting my fingertips trail along the faded dressing-room carpet. “How is the crowd?”

“Upper East Side-y.”

“This is the Upper West Side.”

Dafna sighs.“I know, but they look like their chauffeurs drove them here from across the park.”

My eyes stay closed as I listen to Dafna rubbing at a spot on her skirt; the rough attack of wet wipe against wool is stark against the quiet.

“I should tell you,” she says, voice wavering with the effort. “There is one attendee with promise, like a storybook prince, but in reverse. Everyone is entering the venue, and he’s facing the other way—I can’t tell if he wants to bolt, or if he’s just waiting for rescue.”

“Go talk to him then, get his number,” I say, voice muffled against the  fabric of my trousers. “Save him from his misery.”

“Nah, he’s not my type at all—too tall, too handsome—but he’s certainly yours.”

“Because he’s too tall and too handsome?”

Sitting up brings a head rush, and also exhaustion. Sometimes, the promise of new bodies is no incentive. Not that Dafna cares to know; she’s crossed her arms and her legs, at the ankles, genteel opposition squared. It amuses her to think I’m insatiable when really, most of the time, it’s the distraction, not the promise, that I seek. I’m not awake enough for more.

The heater pipes clang suddenly and there’s sharpness to her smile. “No, he’s your type because he’s clearly indecisive–and nothing thrills you like a question mark.”

I’m not in the business to deny truths, no matter how ungenerous; so I shrug, humming against my lips in careless agreement. “Does that mean you like them short and ugly?”

“I like strong noses and thin frames.”

“Ah, yes.”

The crackling house intercom buzzes to life, announcing fifteen minutes. I shake out my hands and close my eyes again.

*

Of course, all of it is a prelude.

The little girl seated directly in front of my bench never once looks up from her book, but keeps turning the pages, rapidly, too rapidly, like a tiny demonic speed reader. Periodically she flips to the front and pauses before returning to her previous spot. I spend the duration of the Schubert Fantasie trying to catch the title and eventually, do—Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie. How does one compete with a snowy potboiler? Tonight’s answer: by bashing out a furious interpretation of the Heroic Polonaise until she finally looks up.

The frustration evaporates easily. The little girl, Ana, has got a missing front tooth, and a quiet, tissue-paper-thin voice. After the show she asks for my autograph, while her mother shuffles awkwardly behind her. Ana plays the oboe, but assures me she isn’t very good. She likes my socks. And the Chopin. It makes her think of happy shouting.

I tell them to wait for me by the stage door and return to the dressing room to grab some CDs and a Sharpie. I’m like this, lighthearted and occupied, when I encounter Oliver again, standing on a checkered marble floor, smiling with a queasy mix of trepidation and warmth. Eyes the same, hair different, beard, in a suit. Coat, scarf. Beautiful as ever. Elio, Oliver, Oliver, Elio. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I see his face. So easy, it almost seems rehearsed.

Clem steals me away to shake hands and pose for photos; and before rushing back to him, l find Ana and her mother. After scrawling a dedication on one of the CDs, I almost sign it with his name, then pause. It’s the brain, ever helpful. The body too; my hand writing down who it wants most. The ceaseless reminder. Get back, get back, get back. To the prince, to the answer.

“What’s my name again?” I murmur, embarrassed and a little lost but laughing too. It’s early still. There’s time.

—

Special thanks to @cheshirecatstrut for eyeballing this for grammar crimes.

Do you think about writing any SKAM fic? I haven't managed to watch much of it yet, but I'm enjoying the gifs and commentary!

(Deep sigh.)

No. Because Norway and research and NORWAY and research and uh, language and culture and research. Also, Isak, my now and forever favorite garden snake, is a backwards baseball hat wearing bro who loves playing FIFA, watching Narcos and knowing all the SCIENCE and I’ve never played a video game in my life* and remember not one thing about biology. And did I mention research? I don’t want to do research about scientific research. I am tired. Please don’t make me do things. Or think. About somatic cells. And The Simpsons.

Then again, I could totally rock the fuck out of an Even Bech Næsheim POV because I, too, love Baz Luhrmann, arthouse cinema, romantic comedies, quoting said romantic comedies out-of-context with no explanation, singing cheesy dance pop into the face of my horrified beloved**, not sleeping, [activity redacted], the sweet sounds of Nas, jean jackets, cheese toasties and of course, the face of one Isak Valtersen.

I came up with a great idea for a story. It would be both stoopit and profound and most importantly, NO ONE HAS DONE IT BEFORE. I will not write it though. I can’t. But I will daydream and message @etal-later about all of its improbable plot points and resist the urge.

*This is a lie. I’ve played at least two. Not FIFA tho.

Ha ha ha, umm. Good question.

I think that Andante (December 7, Oliver) > Rondo (December 7-8 Elio) > Finale (December 8, both Elio and Oliver) works!. 

Allegro is like bts extras because it’s all the stuff that happened before the other three sections--it’s theme setting but not chronologically relevant so for simplicity’s case I think the order suggested above is best. 

from chapter three of Finale

The double portrait! I was putting together a discography of sorts of PB!Elio’s relationships post-Oliver and I decided he should be with a visual artist. Them using him as a model is a no brainer really. If you could, why wouldn’t you draw that face?

That particular portrait--the visible one and the unseen one behind it--is definitely a statement from his ex. And yet, it’s not entirely unkind. The words in the back suggest that the person who cuts the parchment to get at the hidden picture will know that they can. They’ll be the one who is allowed. I don’t think PB!Oliver has any question that he’s the one, he knows he is. So he cuts it open and sees the other illustration and drinks his coffee. Stares at it some more. Chapter three is all about Oliver taking in Elio, all aspects of him, so yes--this. 

Thank you for the ask, @stormyks!